I Can
by notesofwimsey
Summary: There was supposed to be a wedding. DL. Third in the Wedding Series


A/N: Thanks for the reviews for the two previous stories in the series: "I Will" and "I Won't". Can you guess the next story title in the series?

In spite of the fact that the Monroes have the same names as in my "Journey" Series, this is a different universe.

I've reposted this with the correct Italian phrases. Thanks so much to Silvara71 – I really appreciate the help (on-line translators pretty much give you baby-talk!).

Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to CBS and the CSI:NY creative team; the plot belongs to me.

**I Can**

"It's going to rain, I just know it. And then what will we do? What was I thinking? What a disaster!"

"Lindsay!" Stella grabbed her friend by the shoulders and gave her a loving shake. "It is beautiful out there – not a cloud in the sky. And there is a gazebo at the park if you need it. And people will bring umbrellas if it even looks like sprinkling. And everything is going to be just fine so _please_ would you relax!"

Lindsay spun around and looked at herself in the mirror again. "Are you sure I look okay? I should just fix this strap – I don't like the way it is sitting…"

Stella wrapped her arms around Lindsay and smiled reassuringly at her in the mirror, "You look lovely. I look lovely, the sky looks lovely, everything is lovely and in one hour you are going to be standing holding hands with Danny in front of the minister and nothing else will matter."

Lindsay teared up, "You are going to ruin my makeup, you do realize that, don't you?" She kissed the smooth cheek beside hers, running her hands up Stella's arms to hug her too. "Thank you for everything."

Stella reached over and grabbed a couple of tissues, handing one to Lindsay, "Good thing Danny could tell us which waterproof mascara would dry our eyelashes the least!"

Lindsay snorted in a very unladylike way, "Danny, make-up guru to the NYPD stars!"

"Lindsay? Are you ready, honey? We have to leave soon if we are going to make it through the traffic. So many cars in this city! And everyone so impatient! Your father has mapped out three different routes in case there is a traffic jam on the way there." Diane Monroe came in through the door and stopped when Lindsay turned around to face her, face shining, arms open.

"Stella says I look okay, Mom. What do you think?"

Diane reached out a hand for the tissue Stella silently held out and mopped her suddenly streaming eyes. "Oh, you'll do," she said in a shaking voice.

The stiff brocade of the under-dress was softened by the full-length lace coat that followed the contours of Lindsay's body, falling around her feet. Her hair had been swept up in a mass of curls, and she silently held out a simple veil for her mother to fix on her head. Diane pinned it in such a way that the flowers Stella had already arranged were not displaced. A week earlier, Lindsay had declared with a splutter of laughter that there was no way she was wearing a face veil – she claimed to be afraid she'd walk into a tree. Really, she just wanted to see Danny's face when he saw her for the first time.

"Stella? You're sure he'll be there?"

Stella smiled at her forgivingly, "I talked to Flack not half an hour ago. He's fine: all dressed up and ready to go. He doesn't even have a hang over."

"I should hope not indeed – he hasn't been drunk since Thursday night, has he?" Diane's indignant tone made both Lindsay and Stella roll their eyes before laughing.

"He didn't even have a hangover yesterday, Mom. He's a New Yorker – don't worry, he can hold his beer! I just didn't have a chance to see him yesterday, that's all; he and Flack were both called in," and that had given her a few bad moments, she admitted privately.

"What do you mean you didn't see him? You sat beside him at the rehearsal dinner." Diane pointed out logically.

"Yes, I mean privately, though. We didn't have a chance to talk or … anything."

Diane humphed, a sound only a mother can make with any authority, "I should think not indeed. _Anything else _can just wait until tonight."

Lindsay laughed and put her arms around her mother, "I'm sure I can wait that long, Mom."

Stella said under her breath, "I'm not sure Danny can!"

There was a knock on the door and Ted Monroe stuck his head into the room a little tentatively, "Are you all ready, Peanut? Only, the driver is here."

"Ready, Daddy," Lindsay smiled at him, holding out her arms as she had for her mother. "Do I look like a bride?"

Ted cleared his throat and took the tissue Stella held out. "You look like you're too young to get married, baby," he said gruffly, then kissed her carefully on the cheek and offered her his arm. "That boy better deserve you."

"He's more than I deserve, Dad," she whispered as she slipped her arm through his and walked out the door to take her last ride as a single woman.

Stella glanced around the room: Lindsay had her bouquet of white roses and daisies, her veil (something old), her grandmother's sapphire earrings (something borrowed and something blue) and her dress (something new, finished that morning in an orgy of hand-sewing assisted by her scolding mother, "Honestly, Lindsay, you've had a month to get this finished!").

As Stella walked out the door, smiling, she caught sight of one last essential item, and grabbed the box of tissues as she went.

* * *

"Danny, slow down. I can't keep up," Louie said anxiously.

Danny stopped pacing immediately. "I'm sorry, man. You don't need to walk with me, you know. I'm just nervous."

Louie nodded in seeming understanding, but as soon as Danny started to move again, he began earnestly walking beside him.

Flack was reminded of an old cartoon, with a big bulldog being fretfully followed by a yappy little nervous runt that talked constantly. Spike? Butch? Something like that. Only Louie looked more like the bulldog, with the physical scars of the attack two years ago still visible. The hidden scars would never fade. "Hey, Buddy?" Flack motioned to Louie's cousin and minder. "Take Louie for a walk, would ya?"

Buddy stared at him blankly, "A walk? Where?"

Flack rolled his eyes and said, "Hey, Louie? Could you go see if the minister has shown up yet? He should be at the pavilion. Remember? The little house at the bottom of the hill? Buddy will go with you, and you can come back and tell us if everything is ready, okay?"

Louie nodded eagerly, and went off at a run, Buddy following him, bored and impatient.

Flack turned to see Danny looking at him a bit reproachfully.

"What?" he said, holding out his hands defensively.

"You've sent him off to find the minister three times already."

"Yeah, well. He doesn't remember, and it gives him something to do." Flack didn't add 'besides driving you mental', but he thought it.

Danny sighed, his eyes dark and hooded for a moment. "I need a smoke," he muttered.

"You quit five years ago," Flack pointed out.

"Five years, three months, two days, and," Danny checked his watch, "ten hours ago."

"But who's counting?"

Danny shook off the bleak mood as his father came around to the area roped off for the groom's party.

"So, Daniel," Antony Messer said, embracing his younger son strongly, "How are you holding up?"

"Just fine, Dad."

"No sudden urge to run away?" His father's voice was teasing, but Flack was watching his eyes.

"No. She's everything I don't deserve in life," Danny's soft voice was somber, and Flack's eyes flicked towards him doubtfully.

"Detective, could you give me a minute with my son?" Antony did not look at Flack as he made his request, and Flack understood it was not so much a request.

"Danny?"

Danny nodded, "Give us a minute – could you, Don?"

Reluctantly, Flack walked out of the area and down the pathway towards the rows of chairs that had been placed out on the luckily dry grass. His phone rang, and he grabbed it, reminding himself to put it on vibrate before the ceremony started.

"Yeah?" he barked into the phone, looking back nervously where Danny was standing, his hands in his pockets, his head hanging, while his father spoke to him, in Italian, Flack presumed, as his hands were moving too fast for English.

"Shit, Stel. I'm sorry. Where are you guys?" He kicked himself mentally: nice way to impress the woman.

"Okay. I'll get him into place. What's that?" He listened for a minute to Stella's voice, while in the background, soft music played, courtesy of Adam and his pocket-sized sound system.

"No. He's okay. Well, he will be. As soon as I can get the Messers away from him," Flack's voice must have betrayed his worry, because Stella's suddenly rose anxiously.

"Just get here, okay? And Stel? The surprise is all set up." A grin washed over Flack's face, making him look like a mischievous eleven-year-old.

He walked back quickly up the hill: a glance had shown him that people were being seated and getting into place. "Hey, Danny?" he called as he came around the corner of the small tent which had been set up in case people needed to change, "It's time. Sorry, Mr. Messer," he said briefly, not sounding sorry in the least.

Danny's father shot him a glare, and turned to his son once more, "_Siete sicuri, figlio mio?"_

"_Sicuro_," Danny said firmly.

Antony sighed, then gave his son an uncertain smile, "_Allora tutto ciò che posso fare è darvi la mia benedizione._"

"_Grazie_, Dad."

"Danny, you gotta come now," Flack was one step away from pulling Danny out of his father's arms, especially when he saw the stunned blank look back in his friend's eyes. He held Danny back a moment, letting the older man go first.

"Everything he said, except maybe _benedice_, you forget right now," he said firmly, giving him a hard shake.

"What?"

"I mean it, man. Anything he said, especially in Italian, you leave behind here, you got me?"

Danny looked up into fierce blue eyes, and shook himself out of the frozen fear his father had wrapped him in.

"Okay, okay, man. I can do that. Let up. I'm okay."

Flack held him another moment until Danny looked him in the eyes. Then he shook him one more time and nodded, saying only, "Let's go. Someone's waiting for you."

Alarm filled Danny's eyes, burning through the rest of the anxiety. "She's here already? She's going to kill me if I'm late!"

Flack shook his head, amusement filling his eyes, "Naw, not yet … just wait."

Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of sirens, not one, not two, but dozens. Danny stood in shock as police cars from every precinct pulled up, sirens and lights blaring, to form a phalanx for a police cruiser that was proceeding up the park road. As it got closer, red and blue flashers in counterpoint to the siren, Danny saw two women sitting in the back seat, laughing, and his heart constricted, then filled his chest so full he could hardly breathe.

"Come on," Flack said, pulling him by the arm. "Now she's waiting for you."

* * *

Italian translation:

"_Siete sicuri, figlio mio_?" "Are you sure, my son?"

"_Sicuro_," "Certain."

""_Allora tutto ciò che posso fare è darvi la mia benedizione._" "Then all that is left is to give you my blessing."


End file.
